Lime green, purple and a thousand mirrors that break the light in colors that no one knows the names of and if I pick the words of a poet that curls the seamstress’ hair well that’s one up to me. Stark carnation leis that are short and not too big around are this tomorrow? Or just the end of time so sing the children of the seva asrama
The warmth of the afternoon screams to me come out come out don’t make the ratha-bhojana-vrksa wait, some days start pedaling just plain too late. So past the tree and onto the southern portion around to the main road and the animal hospital. The tennis park and the redone road lead me on to the theater dark again tonight but the gecko is wrenching at a fast pace. Crossing the shopper’s corner sprinting to the monkey that leaps about. The railroad bridge and that’s Bhakta Blade’s bhajan kutir where the motorcycle sloka slinger is taking the name tracing onto the natural bridge and dropping the fragments off there. The deity of the sufferer is smiling wide as the sun has come out and warmed the cockles of his heart. Skate boarders abound in their park looping the loop and defying the ground. The Cruiser King utters an incantation to assure safe passage through the triangle. The house that taught choc-o-lot to talk-a-lot is empty this Sunday but Our Lady of the endless wailing cries is full to the brim. The harbor sees sails blowing in the breeze and the toad is out to watch. Big road takes me quickly back to the long and winding where the tree checks it’s watch as I call out ‘jaya’ on to the asrama where the sandhya is in progress and I blend in with the participants.
Creamy silk paired with red flowered Chinese silk that was offered on the Nrsinghacaturdasi, when the Lion ripped apart the demon with the touch that kills. With the warm night the chodders are gone.